


I have looked down the saddest city lane.

by adri92



Category: Marvel
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adri92/pseuds/adri92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They half-lay on the couch with Bobbi nestled up against Clint, his arm around her shoulder. Before the rain, Bobbi had dragged him to a myriad of used bookstores. For the most part, Clint wasn’t all that interested in names like Hemingway and Faulkner and Conrad and Shelley, but he was happy to be spending time with her without the bickering. She had bought so much that Clint hardly kept track.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have looked down the saddest city lane.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weatheredlaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/gifts).



> Written in mind with RP headcanons that were came about with Cat

It’s raining. Bobbi and Clint rush into Clint’s apartment, hair sopping wet. They’re laughing and grinning from ear-to-ear. Catching their breath, Bobbi presses her lips to his and he smiles as he returns the kiss. Without a word, she clutches his hands and pulls him with her to the couch. They half-lay on the couch with Bobbi nestled up against Clint, his arm around her shoulder. Before the rain, Bobbi had dragged him to a myriad of used bookstores. For the most part, Clint wasn’t all that interested in names like Hemingway and Faulkner and Conrad and Shelley, but he was happy to be spending time with her without the bickering. She had bought so much that Clint hardly kept track.  


She offers to read to him and he shrugs and agrees before telling her he has no preference as to what she reads to him. From her bag, she pulls out _The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories_ by Ernest Hemingway. She flips through the pages to the start of the short story The Snows of Kilimanjaro and he kisses the side of her head.  


“ _’I can't listen to it,’ he said. ‘Talking is the easiest. We quarrel and that makes the time pass.’_ ” She reads and he listens. When she reads, he really does listen and though, he knows he wouldn’t care about Harry or the safari in Africa if it weren’t for Bobbi, he’s interested now.  


“ _’I'd like to destroy you a few times in bed,’ he said._ ” She continues before Clint snorts and Bobbi hits his stomach with the back of her hand.  


“ _’Yes. That's the good destruction. That's the way we're made to be destroyed. The plane will be here tomorrow.’_ ”  


Clint doesn’t like the ending.  


Closing the book, she climbs over him and heads to the kitchen to brew some tea. By some miracle, Clint has a kettle, but surely that is only because he bought it because it was on sale. It’s half-price. Gotta have it. She returns, setting aside the Hemingway collection.  


“Poetry?” Clint groans when she pulls out _West-Running Brook_ , a collection by Robert Frost. She hushes him.  


“ _These pools that, though in forests, still reflect the total sky almost without defect, and like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, and yet not out by any brook or river, but up by roots to bring dark foliage on_ ,” she reads.  


By the time the kettle whistles, she’s made it to “Devotion”.  
The heart can think of no devotion greater than being shore to ocean - holding the curve of one position, counting an endless repetition,” she closes the book and stands. 

As she prepares her cup of tea and asks if Clint wants one too, Clint runs his fingers along the spine of the book before carefully turning the pages, reading the words. He tucks the book back in her bag before she returns and smiles up at her. As she sips on her tea, she curls up beside him again.  


Taking the half empty cup from her, he sets it on the floor and presses his lips to hers. Bobbi runs her hand along his stomach under his shirt before Clint helps her push it up and over his head. With impatience, he throws the shirt to the floor. Bobbi straddles him now, rolling her hips which draws out a groan from Clint that makes her smirk. After a series of small kisses, he moved down to her neck, nipping and sucking on the skin. Pulling away for a moment, he eases her shirt off of her then resumes laying a trail of heated kisses on her skin. She groans and makes an impatient noise as she works on undoing his pants and urging them down his hips.  


“Impatient, are we?” He grins and she rolls her eyes.  


She unhooks her bra and discards the garment. Clint’s eyes trail down her half-naked form. Bobbi wraps a hand around his cock, stroking slowly at first and drawing out small, throaty groans from Clint.  


“Fuck,” he manages under his breath.  


Rubbing her thumb against the tip, he bucks against her hand. His hands come to rest on her hips but not for long as he works her underwear down her hips as his own breath grows ragged. Leaning forward, he mouths her breast, tongue swirling around her nipple, which garners him a gasp from her mouth and he smirks against her skin. Bobbi rolls her hips against him with more urgency. There’s gotta be a condom ‘round here somewhere. Dammit, Clint. He fumbles for a bit, but he locates one. She helps him roll it on and she goes teasingly slow.  


Lining up the head of his cock with her entrance, she eases him in. Clint grips her hips. He’ll leave marks. A small moan leaves her lips when he fills her to the hilt and he echoes it. They move in tandem. Their lips meet in fervent kisses. Clint’s sure he’s moaned her name a few dozen times like a mantra. Clint knows she’s close by the way her cheeks flush and how she tenses around him.  


“Come on, baby,” he urges. She comes undone around him, falling apart just for him. Her nails dig into his chest and he finds it spurs him on. Within moments, he’s reached his release and he comes undone with a shout.  


They both work on catching their breath and she kisses him tenderly. “I love you,” they both say. They drag themselves both to bed, arms and legs seemingly intertwining and warmth radiating from both their bodies.  


When Bobbi’s fast asleep, Clint climbs out of the bed, pulling on a pair of boxers. Going through her bag, he’s uninterested in every book except for _West-Running Brook_. Through his own volition, he starts to turn the pages carefully and let his eyes scan the words and soak in their meaning. “Acquainted with the Night” quickly becomes his favorite; he reads it over and over. _I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain_. He reads to himself. _I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet when far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street, but not to call me back or say good-bye;_  
Yawning, he closes the book and decides that getting some sleep might be best. However, he doesn’t put the book back in her bag. Carefully, he tucks it away under his mattress. Crawling back into bed, he pulls the sheet over his body and curls up against Bobbi as he wraps an arm around her waist and nestles his face in the crook of her neck. Sleep comes easily.  


 

It starts with dinner. They eat pizza at a place only a block away. Clint can tell by the way she picks at the pepperoni that something is on her mind.  


“What is it?” He probes.  


“Nothing,” she repeats more than once.  


“Let’s get out of here,” she says but doesn’t meet his gaze.  


Clint isn’t done eating, but there’s clearly no point in sticking around if Bobbi wants to leave. The walk back to Clint’s apartment is too quiet and though she walks near him, he can feel the distance. Choosing not to make the attempt to take her hand in his, he simply shoves his hands into his pockets.  


After walking back into his apartment, he’s barely thrown his jacket on the couch when Bobbi cuts to the chase.  


“I’m not _stupid_ ,” she starts. Clint furrows his brows, dumbfounded. Bobbi’s grabbed an empty box and she’s indiscriminately throwing her things—clothes, dinnerware, shampoo bottles—into it and he stupidly follows her around the entire apartment.  


Still wrapping his mind around what she was doing, she speaks again, “I’m not stupid. But I didn’t think _you_ were stupid enough to make it obvious you were fucking someone else.” She shoves a cell phone that neither belongs to him or her hard against his chest. It was one time hardly seems like a fit excuse nor You’ve done it too. So, he simply stands there and stares dumbly.  


“We’ve never fit just right,” she continues.  


Clint can’t tell if she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince him.  


“We’re not perfect,” he starts.  


“I don’t want to fight anymore,” her voice cracks for a moment.  


“Then we won’t. Let’s not,” he closes the space between them and kisses her. His eyes are a little wet. Bobbi pulls away and shakes her head.  


“We won’t fight anymore because I’m leaving. For both of us.” Taking in a deep breath, she kisses him. A goodbye kiss.  


“Bobbi,” he protests.  


Without another word, she turns away from him, box in hand, headed for the door. She doesn’t look back as she shuts the door behind her leaving Clint to stand alone in the middle of his apartment. He hasn’t realize he’s crying until he touches his cheek with the pads of his fingers and feels tears dampening his skin.  
When he’s made it back to his room that has a void now, he wonders if she even realized he has her book. He yanks it from under the mattress and for a moment, Clint thinks about tearing it page by page or burning it. In another moment, he thinks it could work as an excuse to meet her again face-to-face. But in the end, neither of those things seem as comforting as keeping it as memento. Nothing can drive him to rid himself of what he has left of her. _Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night._


End file.
